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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460567">plasticity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavowedwhore/pseuds/unavowedwhore'>unavowedwhore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Attempted Murder, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Civil War Team Captain America, Gen, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Mind Control, Misgendering, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Not Tony Stark Friendly, Stalking, Starvation, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Unreliable Narrator, except Steve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:02:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavowedwhore/pseuds/unavowedwhore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When the accords are pushed forward, Team Cap tries to stop the impending systematic genocide.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harley Keener &amp; Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff &amp; Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff &amp; Steve Rogers &amp; Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ✦</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Re-re-written because the second edition was too fast-paced and the first edition read like <i>Atlas Shrugged</i>. Many thanks to PadawanYugi and orivu, extremely helpful beta-readers.</p><p>Overall content warnings for human rights violations, violence especially against minors, death, starvation, anti-Romani sentiment (on Tony's part), trypanophobia, anti-Tony/Accords sentiment on pretty much everyone else's part and misgendering. This story doesn't start well and it doesn't end well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Leaving Sokovia was a lot like joining HYDRA.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda Maximova wasn’t taken against hir will, but rather, at no point was hir will considered. Much like when ze was huddled up against hir brother’s body in the snow, there was no question when people much larger than Vanda arrived and rushed hir into inescapable trucks with the promise of food and shelter. This time though, Pjetro’s body was buried under the rubble—maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda saw him fall, felt him die, but didn’t know what the drones or the Americans had made of his body. A part of hir hoped that he remained in the rubble. Given that the Americans and HYDRA were so alike, ze had no doubt that hir brother’s body would be dissected for research. No sacred society would be able to prepare him for burial—nobody would mourn the boy. To the heavens and to the rest of the world, that boy may as well have not existed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Pjetro stopped existing, so did Vanda. Ze took a backseat to hir own existence. Nobody would notice the difference anyway. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. fugacity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Leaving Sokovia was nothing like joining HYDRA. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The difference between the good guys and the bad guys was obvious. For one, the Americans didn’t lock Wanda Maximoff up for all the damage that she had inadvertently caused. They were empathetic to the struggles she had been through and made all the adjustments she needed to survive. A name they could pronounce—Wanda—because it fit their alphabet and squirrelly accents. A large space alone with the synthetic man, whose brain had no energy. Several presumptions that wrote Wanda’s story so the young woman whose parents’ death had brought her to the point of terrorism wouldn’t have to explain anything herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A very simple, traditional story. Unfortunately, Wanda was the villain of a greater story, but perhaps these Americans would fix that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because the Americans were smart, not just afraid of their captive, they transported her back in a large box that the synthetic man promised wasn’t a cage. The Vision, as the Americans called him, couldn’t tell a lie. He only told what he was told. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This enclosure is made of adamantium,’ the Vision said, sitting across from Wanda in said enclosure. ‘The metal is typically indestructible. If you wish to escape, it should be impossible.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The enclosure was big, but Wanda was short and understood that anyone of average height would have to stoop. The walls were metal, with panels here and there, perhaps to store the light switches. With no windows or furniture, it was cold in the way that things got cold when Wanda was alone, no other minds to hide in. ‘A-da-man-ti-um.’ Wanda echoed hoarsely. The lack of human minds meant that she no longer had an endless supply of English words at her disposal. For the time being, she would have to hold herself up, holding onto every new word that beat at her brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>En-clo-sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A-da-man-ti-um. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In-de-struc-ti-ble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Im-pos-si-ble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made sense that the Americans would pair her with the synthetic man in an indestructible enclosure. Here, she would be powerless, just like everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This arrangement left Wanda without many words of her own. There was little conversation to make and she had gone over every panel of this enclosure eight hundred times. She thought to sleep for the rest of the journey, if they were truly being transported at all, but Pjetro and Ultron and those drones were very much with her behind her eyelids. Absently, she wondered what Pjetro would be to the Americans. A violent man, not a young boy. Nobody’s brother. No record of his favorite foods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Has something upset you?’ the Vision asked, pulling Wanda out of her own mind. The young woman snapped to attention, unsure how to answer. The wetness on her cheeks was probably cause for concern. She quickly swiped it away, face as stony as the Vision’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘N—No,’ Wanda answered. The Visio didn’t seem like a person who understood the extent of people. If she asked him who he was, Wanda had no doubt she would provided with a list of the materials used to create him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda touched down in the Avengers’ Facility a few hours later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She woke up in it three weeks later when the Vision placed a plate in front of her. His eyes glowed soft red and instinctively, she thought to look into his mind. She had forgotten that he was Cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where am I?’ she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The kitchen,’ he answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she looked around, that much was clear. It wasn’t the sort of tiny kitchen that doubled as a dining room in Sokovian family homes. This kitchen was large, two rooms in one, with enough counters and cupboards to be used in a top-quality restaurant. On the plate was a sandwich. Plain, brown, with green and pink edges hinting at its contents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where—Where’s this kitchen? Where’s the cage—enclosure?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is the Avengers’ Facility, Adirondack Mountains, New York State, America, forty-four point . . .’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A-di-ron-dack,’ Wanda echoed as he droned on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You may be disoriented due to shock.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dis-or-i-en-ted.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were to be interrogated by myself. However, you remained unresponsive and the current lack of technology that can be effectively used by humans to nullify your abilities—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You speak too fast,’ Wanda murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision, robotically as ever, continued at a much slower pace. ‘—meant it was unsafe to bring in any medical professional or government agents to assess your state of mind. It was decided we would wait it out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait what out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your abnormal behaviour.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ Wanda looked down at herself. ‘Oh-kay.’ When she flexed her fingers and her feet, they moved with such an ache, as though she had overslept from a fever. She wore the same flowery red-and-black knitted sweater that used to be a special occasion dress when she was a child. Grime and dust had turned much of the design dull. Her jeans weren’t faring much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was commanded to research the possible causes of your behaviour and the necessary management,’ the Vision said. ‘Food and warmth were the most commonly occurring suggestions, but you did not respond to the presentation of foods until now. I suppose that you are now hungry beyond your consciousness.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A growl from Wanda’s stomach followed the Vision’s words, like he was a prophet. Wanda shifted closer to the table, to the plate, and felt the bread between her fingertips. The whole world currently felt alien and the bread more so. Either America was a glitchy simulation or three weeks out of her body made simple meals feel like experimental substances from HYDRA labs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda picked it apart, separating the layers and then tearing each layer into smaller pieces she could swallow without chewing. The Vision’s eyes shone green before returning to their usual color. ‘I have notified my superiors of the completion of my mission.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No-ti-fied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Su-pe-ri-ors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Com-ple-tion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda regarded him with curiosity as the Vision began to float. ‘After this, you must bathe. I will prepare the bath and your outfit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was so much more prepared for Wanda than just a bath and an outfit. She had been designed an entire bedroom, once again twice the size of anything she had seen in Sokovia. Everything was sized up, as though Americans needed their surroundings to be extravagant on a daily basis. The huge bed was dressed with an even more huge blanket that Wanda could wrap around herself several times. Drawers were filled with rows of shirts and jeans and underwear, all slightly different shades, but ultimately the same plain designs. A guitar that she needed her ability to help her lift sat in the corner of the room, with a stand and sheets of music. Wanda understood talents and the like—she had been inside enough minds to have a passing knowledge—but it was all alien technology to her when she was alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> More surreal than the room and all her new belongings was the Vision. After Wanda made a habit of going to the bathroom and holing up in her room for hours, the Vision made a habit of knocking on her door every five hours. ‘You must eat,’ he would announce. Wanda wondered if the firm enunciation meant that unlike for the past three weeks, she wouldn’t have a choice this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision was smart. The Vision was logical and powerful. However, there were moments when simple, albeit far too human concepts escaped him. His only response to Wanda’s sudden bursts of tears was ‘Has something upset you?’ and a distant stare, like he wanted to read </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> mind. Once she lied, he would leave the topic alone. Sandwiches and cereal, he could prepare with ease. Anything remotely more complex, such as rice, pasta, meat, vegetables, all these things somehow managed to taste the same—plain as paper and soft as porridge. Wanda couldn’t hide her frown when she tasted these. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As with many of my skills, cooking is a set of algorithms and arrays uploaded to my internal library,’ the Vision told her when he noticed her disgust. ‘It is my understanding that taste is not a consistent trait among humans, varying largely between each person and influenced by their culture and genetics alike. I have been unable to find a solution to this situation, as I am in no position to ask for different methods and manners of cooking. I am connected to the Internet, but not permitted to apply its information to real-life circumstances, for security reasons. If you wish, I can ask that a human skilled in cooking prepares your meals and I will deliver them to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda nodded slowly, glad that she would no longer be subjected to his worse meals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that incident, each day was marked by several deliveries straight to her bedroom door. Still, Wanda ate each meal with the Vision by her side at the kitchen counter. He would recite the details of the food as Wanda tucked in, as though this was what he had been programmed to understand as small talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This seafood paella was obtained from a restaurant in Chelsea, New York City,’ the Vision droned. ‘It was prepared by a man named James, who has made this meal regularly for the past six years. He was honoured to have his meal brought here—to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision must have misunderstood. It was more likely that this James was honoured to have his meal brought to the Avengers’ Facility than a known terrorist, but Wanda didn’t correct the synthetic man. Instead, she ate without a sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having each chef summarised to her over familiar tastes and foreign ones too brought a new form of Warmth into the kitchen. Wanda could easily picture Annabelle, who sold apple pies and cream at some mall, and the grandmother that passed down the recipes. She would have no trouble reading the mind of Sai, who ran a restaurant with his wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision had become something of a friend, if this informative small talk and the vintage music he played was not part of his typical programming. He was still very much Cold, but not so much that it was scary to be around him. He was more Cold like an inanimate object—one that Wanda had grown comfortable with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda imagined that this would be her new life—the guitar she didn’t know how to hold, plain clothes that could belong to any teenage girl, a new meal from the city everyday. It wasn’t going to erase Pjetro or Sokovia or HYDRA or Ultron, but it wasn’t bad. If this was as good as it got, it definitely wasn’t so bad. And maybe if </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was good to her environment, she’d get more of a choice with things. Underwear that wasn’t so weird and colourful, a thicker blanket, more pies than paella. Maybe she could go for walks with the Vision. She wondered if he ever wanted anything, an electronic equivalent of food or fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day that she had planned to ask, a day after too-spicy fritters from a guy named Carl, the Vision served her with a whole cake that was—given the Americans and their larger-than-life culture—smaller than the plate itself. It was perfectly round, flat, and its diameter couldn’t have been much larger than the length of Wanda’s hand. Pale white cream coated its sides, so firm and in place that Wanda might have thought it was simply a wide plastic tube if it wasn’t on a plate. Yet she knew something was off before the Vision even spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was unable to see the direct creator of this meal,’ he said, handing her a fork and knife, ‘but I’m told it was created in Stark Industries, New York City.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda froze and the weight of the name almost knocked her off her chair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stark</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She hadn’t heard that name for a while—not since she got here. With Stark came the intrusive memories of Ultron, of her brother’s death, of the loud shouts and booms and pain. Wanda steeled herself to neither cry nor run. She was here, Avengers’ Facility, in the present. Cab Calloway scatted from one of the Vision’s speakers again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a deep breath, she pushed through the surface of the cake with her thumb and it broke unevenly into pieces. Its inside revealed several thin sponge layers split by cream, but something—something was still very wrong. Cold. Like the Vision himself could have made it, but didn’t. She broke a piece further into crumbs and the crumbs further into mush until a sharp  piece stopped her fingertips. Wanda didn’t check twice to know what it was. Energy flooded through her hand just from pressing hard enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, she threw the microscopic shard to the table, full of the same stuff that had been used to give so many abilities under HYDRA, and leapt from her chair. The chair shattered at her feet. Wanda’s heart would not slow down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Has something upset you?’ This wasn’t the usual Vision asking. He was now hovering, palms flat and ready for defense. Wanda looked down and found that she was doing the same, bright red energy encircling her frame. She stopped immediately, clumsily landing on her knees, and scurried back as she shook her head frantically. ‘Has something—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’ she yelped. She wasn’t sure now if this was a nightmare, if the Vision was an agent of Ultron, of Stark, of the American Government, any one of them playing the long game to eventually kill her. Or worse, cage her and torture her. She couldn’t let that happen—not again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ran to her room and used her energy to push the doorframe into the door so that the Vision wouldn’t be able to make it in without a fight. Wanda had to get out of here—and she certainly wouldn’t be eating a meal with the Vision ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. biddability</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘You must eat.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision had told her that a few dozen times now and he was not wrong. Even if Wanda could hold her stomach to convince herself she wasn’t hungry, she would soon grow weak. After that, her energy would drop, the doorframe would expand and the Vision would be able to make it in with ease. This was a losing battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Wanda held her ground, literally sitting on the floor before the door. ‘Go away!’ she cried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It is clear that something has upset you,’ the Vision said, ‘but if you refuse to tell me what, I cannot assist you. It is likely that you are suffering from several disorders and your recovery thus far has been relatively impressive, but to isolate yourself is to induce a relapse.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suf-fer-ing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dis-or-der.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Re-cov-er-y.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I-so-late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda did not want to be wasting her energy on protecting herself. In fact, a part of her thought that she was overreacting. That perhaps she imagined the shard she had found between the crumbs. Or, if not, that she was simply presuming the Vision had anything to do with it. The Vision didn’t make the cake, nor did he take it apart with such a compulsion. All he did was deliver it, like he had done most of her meals. To block him out now was just childish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Wanda argued with herself, even if the Vision didn’t make it, there was no way he couldn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>the energy inside it. Wanda was capable of feeling it the second she looked at it. The fact that he hadn’t thought to warn her was proof that he couldn’t be trusted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision wasn’t capable of malice, though. If anything, he had probably been ordered not to inform her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what did that mean in the long run? Any American could order him to harm her and he simply would?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Vision was a tool. Nothing more. Just a tool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the more reason that he couldn’t be trusted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanda,’ the Vision called. ‘You must understand that it is not appropriate to isolate yourself during moments of extreme distress. I implore you—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where is she?’ A bold new voice, new Warmth, had entered the building, now standing outside Wanda’s room and the young woman gulped it up like all the food she had refused for the past few days. Steven Grant Rogers was the first human mind that Wanda came in contact with since forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maximoff is currently in her room,’ the Vision answered. His tone had changed in addressing this man. Perhaps he had been programmed to have a different volume and pitch for different people. Kind and inviting for terrorists. Firm and impersonal for allies. ‘I haven’t been able to visibly assess her state, but it likely that she is in extreme distress—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, no shit.’ Steve must the handle of the door down with such immediate force that it startled Wanda and her energy dropped. The door burst open with ease, cracks pushing apart the shrunken doorframe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy to see why this man had been chosen to symbolise America. Up close, he was so tall and large, this bedroom would have fit him much better than it fit Wanda. He held out a hand that made her own look like a baby’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her answer was a small whimper. No, she wasn’t. Wanda wasn’t used to so much openness and honesty at once. Steve’s mind was so Warm, it was almost scalding. Wanda kept her eyes focused on the fibres of his knitted sweater for fear that she genuinely would be scalded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighed, retracting his hand. ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ he said. ‘Had Vis told you about the bill?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another small whimper. Wanda had no idea what Steve was talking about, but she didn’t need to wonder. A quick peek through the surface of his mind cleared things up. Large, pale-skinned men in business suits, huge egos exaggerated by their booming voices and sweaty fists. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Sokovia Accords</span>
  </em>
  <span>. 132 US-letter-sized pages of legal jargon all to make a single point: to have an innate </span>
  <em>
    <span>sapiens superior</span>
  </em>
  <span> ability negated one’s right as a human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda Maximoff was not a human being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chilling discovery brought her back into her own mind, to the present. She hiccupped with terror and looked to the Vision, who swam before her watering sight. ‘Y—You didn’t tell me. . .’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, what would he have said? That her rights as a human being had been revoked? That she would have to be legally registered as a weapon or face indefinite confinement? That every nice thing he was doing was simply a farce?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rogers,’ the Vision said, ‘it may have not been wise to have come. Maximoff is in no state to handle such an influx of information—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You would have let her die before you told her anything,’ Steve hissed. ‘How are you even still following orders from Tony? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s irrational!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m acting in our world’s best interest,’ the Vision answered calmly. ‘Allowing Maximoff to be in direct contact with others is an inherent threat. Regardless of her intentions, she is a danger to—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am not a danger!’ Wanda snapped. Both men, synthetic and natural, paused. Even Wanda herself was startled by her newfound voice. She clutched pudgy fists, careful not to let her anger manifest as energy. She stood on shaky legs, stepping away from the Vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not a danger,’ she repeated quietly, ‘not to anyone. I just, I just don’t want to be caged again. To be used again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve, entirely unafraid, placed a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. Broad and blistered, his palm truly felt like it belonged to a man of old age. Wanda almost shrunk beneath it. ‘Do you mind if we go somewhere else to talk?’ he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do not have permission,’ the Vision interrupted. ‘Not from Stark nor our government.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve turned and approached the synthetic man. Even with all of the Vision’s ideal form, Steve easily towered over him. ‘And are you going to fight me, Vis?’ he growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was one question that the Vision couldn’t answer. Steve turned back to Wanda and nodded, ‘Get your jacket, let’s go.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All things considered, Wanda should have been wearier about following a random guy in his car to somewhere miles and miles away from the Avengers’ Facility. Yet, she found comfort and trust in being able to touch his mental framework, run her fingers over the reinforced scaffolding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As long as Steve wasn’t thinking about harm, Wanda didn’t see any reason for distrust. Still, it would have been nicer if she had a physical weapon, in case Steve had somehow trained his mind just to throw her off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind wasn’t as easy or bright as Pjetro’s always had been. One look inside and it was a tirade of conflicting emotions—contradictory statements.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I must protect my people. I must avoid conflict.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Who he would be able to protect if he didn’t fight was a constant debate in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped at a café on the busier side of the state, bustling with people and cars and the temptation to hold millions of minds at once. Wanda had to hold herself back. With the new laws coming to pass, she understood there was a thin line between her and a lion. The second she brought out any of her abilities, the government would probably be on her again, this time with all the evidence they needed to prove she wasn’t human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those laws were exactly the thing currently standing in the spotlight of Steve’s mind. They leapt all over the place—every line and clause—and while Wanda couldn’t understand English that well, let alone legal jargon, she could understand dread and fear and anger pretty well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thin slices of chocolate cake and mugs of coffee adorned the table where they sat. Wanda knew well enough by now not to eat the foods these Americans gave her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You probably know by now that they want to make you into a weapon,’ Steve said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda nodded, eyes on the crystal glaze of the brown icing. ‘Don’t they—’ she scattered a portion of the slice with a fork, ‘—already think I’m a weapon?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, but they can’t legally use you in any countries that they’re at war with. They also can’t guarantee that you’ll listen, so they need control—insurance.’ Steve wrung his hands. ‘They don’t just want you; they want every single person who can do what you do—what we do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunger exceeded Wanda’s suspicion because a forkful ended up in her mouth, and she enjoyed it way too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want people getting hurt,’  Steve sighed. ‘I’m trying to keep people safe. That includes you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cake threatens to come back up her throat. Steve’s dread is all of a sudden her dread, and she feels like curling up into a ball beneath the table. ‘Why me?’ she mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you’re the first and only piece of evidence they have to set off years and years of torturing certain people for what they can do. What they have in that bill is the kind of stuff that brings about concentration camps, torture, genocide—and this time, all countries are complacent.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to fight,’ Wanda stirred the mug before her and contemplated downing it in spite of her nausea. ‘You don’t want to fight now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If we fight now, we won’t have to fight later.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda looked up. It was such a lie, that the plunge they both felt—him speaking it and her hearing it—was merely the wrapping around his words. Steve’s gaze was to the table now, lips folded like he had to believe the lies he spread, even if nobody else did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. venustration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p class="font-serif">IT IS TIME TO RESTORE THE AMERICAN PRECEPT THAT EACH INDIVIDUAL IS ACCOUNTABLE FOR HIS ACTIONS.</p>
</div><p>Wanda looked over the series of oil paintings and quotes of the men that built this country as Steve sat beside her. He scribbled and ticked across an application form with his large, meaty hands. The man took Wanda from the café to a plaza lined with buildings, which were uncertain whether they wanted to be tall straight boxes or oddly-shaped and stout. </p><p>As they entered one of the tall buildings, the sneers and glares that greeted the pair were enough defense against Wanda’s curiosity for minds. She didn’t want to see how much they must have hated her. Steve’s height and bulk made for a great shield against all the negative energy.</p><p>However, once they reached the top floor, they were mostly alone—save for the receptionist who had provided them with the form. Beyond this small lobby, the narrow corridors that branched out of it were obscured by shadows. Wanda couldn’t make out more human minds if she wanted to.</p><p>‘They’re not going to make it too hard for you,’ Steve said as he went over the form. Wanda Maximoff. 16. Born in Novi Grad, Sokovia. The tiny village far south of the country where<em> Vanda Djangovna Maximova </em>was born had been taken off the map years ago. ‘I know it sucks, but just do what they say and they won’t make trouble. They’ll only take your blood after you fill the form, and if you want, you can stay at my place until this whole thing is finished.’</p><p>‘Your place,’ Wanda echoed. Her skin crawled at the sight of the ticked box beside<em> F. </em> Wanda knew what the words “your place” meant, of course, but the idea of being allowed to stay outside the mansion was surreal. <em> 08-31-15 </em>had been scrawled at the top of the page; it had already been over three months with the Vision. What if Steve had a similar plan, keeping her confined and out of the know until he felt it was safe?</p><p>That theory was easily disproved. Through and through, Steve was an honest man. When he said it, he meant it. He had pictured a space in one of the bedrooms for her to stay.</p><p>‘Things will go back to normal after this,’ Steve continued, though his belief in his own words was a lot less stable now. ‘They’ll register you as an enhanced individual, put you on the frontlines in the rare event of any emergency, but they won’t be able to tell you to do anything without my permission,’ He smiled brightly and Wanda almost told him to stop. She was already grown. She didn’t need fairytales anymore. </p><p>What would Wanda’s normal even be? Grieving in an apartment in a huge city?</p><p>A beep cut through her rumination as a number shows up on the TV screen hanging from the ceiling. The only number in the queue—001. ‘That’s you,’ Steve told her, squeezing her hand as she rose. ‘Everything will be fine.’</p><p>He appeared to need these lies far more than she did. </p><p>She took the form back to the receptionist, who regarded her with the same cold eyes as the rest of the people in the building. ‘Right this way,’ they said, leaving their chair to lead Wanda through the shadows of the corridors. </p><p>Closed doors patterned windowless walls as they walked. The building clearly had a lot of importance and money to its name, but the humidity and darkness reminded Wanda of the apartment complex where the Maximovs and Maximovas first lived—and died. Wanda shook her head, determined to keep that door in her mind just as closed as the ones she passed.</p><p>They finally stopped at the only room with a door recently painted. The shine and lack of obvious decay made it stand out—maybe the whole point of the worst doors was to make the ones of remote decency stand out. The receptionist pushed it open to reveal a single chair behind a metal table. ‘Take a seat,’ they said, with a voice just as hard as the room, ‘SHIELD will be with you shortly.’</p><p>‘SHIELD?’ Wanda echoed, but the receptionist all but pushed her in and slammed the door shut. With nobody nearby, it was cold again. There wasn’t much to do with herself but sit down, and the more she did nothing, the more her mind would run astray just to whip up all the worst scenarios. </p><p>Perhaps the Americans would kill her now.</p><p>Perhaps Steve had tricked her. </p><p>Perhaps SHIELD agents would enter with Tony Stark himself in tow to break her further than she had ever been broken before. </p><p>The HYDRA agents that trained her so long ago had such limitless cruelty. Wanda and her brother had always been powerful enough to evade the worst of it, but they came to learn just how far people could go in the name of any given cause.</p><p>The person who entered the room, however, wasn’t the sort of SHIELD agent she was expecting. It was just a man, casually dressed, equipped with a small green toolbox. He wasn’t smiling, however, and his brain was about as mechanical as the Vision’s. Wanda elected to give him his privacy.</p><p>He set the toolbox down on the table and unclicked it to reveal none of the usual tools. Gloves, needles, spirit, cotton—it was more like a medical kit. ‘Can I confirm that you’re Wendy Marximoff?’</p><p>Wanda kept her mouth closed.</p><p>‘Can I confirm that you’re Wendy Marximoff?’ he repeated, voice strained. Where dread and sorrow emanated from Steve, this man had the conscious desire for violence. If he could, he would immediately mark Wanda as a threat and pin her to the table. Wanda could take him down in less than a second. </p><p>Only, the new bill had made it clear what would happen to those who harmed others via their abilities. It had to be the simplest clause, yet here she was, prepared to break it. Bitterly, she nodded. </p><p>The man proceeded to stretch nylon gloves over his two hands, and fixed a ball of cotton into the bottle of spirit. He yanked up the sleeve of Wanda’s jacket and scrubbed a part over the inside of her elbow. She knew what would come next. </p><p>HYDRA had taken her blood enough times that she should be used to needles by now. Usually, she’d hide in the mind of the people poking and prodding her—brainless machines of cruelty that hardly had any sense of warmth or cold. This man was entirely cold and ready to ruin what little chance of freedom she had if she didn’t comply. </p><p>Gritting her teeth, Wanda braced for the needle as she watched a dent on the metal table. Maybe it was used for the unconventional terrorists that came before her, she imagined; bombers from Thailand with a vendetta against the US. Maybe it was just a normal table, one of many, and this is the one that has been moved from room to room to—</p><p>Once the needle slipped in, reality became overwhelmingly present. Violent. She watched her blood spurt into a cylinder for just a few seconds before the man tipped the needle back and placed another pad of cotton over the microscopic wound. ‘So you’re capable of murder, but still afraid of needles,’ the man noted. Wanda didn’t need to be in his mind to feel the smugness of his tone. He probably should have deducted from that fact that, despite everything, Wanda was still a human.</p><p>But to him, Wanda was Wendy. Or Wenda. Or WMD. All in all, a threat that needed to be kept in place at all costs, especially through aggression. The man led himself out, but glanced back before he left, ‘If you’re scared of needles, you’re going to shit yourself from what comes next.’</p><p>He closed the door before Wanda had the chance to find out what would come next. Wanda gripped the edge of the table and whispered, ‘They won’t make trouble.’ A wild thought bolted across her mind and startled her so much that she leapt from the chair.</p><p>She could fight. Right now, she could break out, take on the entire building, and make it out of the country. Steve would be difficult, but if he held back out of sympathy, then she could take him on too. As fast as it came was as fast as it left in favor of more rational thoughts. Her violence would only pave the way for generations of violence to come. The bill was bigger than just her. She knew that. </p><p>Wanda sat back down in the chair and sighed. In truth, she was damned either way.</p><p>The door opened again, two men now entering now. Less active, more cold, no different than the ones at HYDRA. They didn’t have any kit so big, just a pen connected to a flat generator of sorts. Only when she saw the tip did she realise the purpose of the pen—a tattoo pen. They had done it to her grandparents and their parents before them—not necessarily the Americans, but the same obedient civil servants who held their country’s values at heart. Wanda closed her eyes, tugging on the ropes of her mental carriage to ride away from this. She wouldn’t be picky now; any other mind would do. </p><p>The whir of the pen was a siren that tore her eyes open and with that, five needles began their journey along her forearm.</p><p>✦</p><p>The thing that sat in the chair was a freak of nature; a monster in human skin. Dima wasn’t surprised. He had lived long enough to know that aliens were now commonplace. </p><p>Only some years ago, New York itself was victim to intergalactic invaders seeking the end of the entire planet. Back then, the incident was so isolated that the country didn’t know how to put it into words. As one of the people who had to go over the errors in those reports, Dima knew what a headache it was debating on what to call Space Hitler—“Space Hitler” itself was not considered formal enough.</p><p>Frankly, Dima didn’t mind the aliens. As long as they stuck to their home a few lightyears away, he was indifferent to their existence. But here was one now, who—like all the rest—had the single goal of ruining everyone’s life like some cartoon villain. Yet, the country had decided that this thing was somehow human enough to be kept alive. That it deserved to sit behind a table instead of being dissected, or at least kept in a maximum-security prison. </p><p>Now, Dima had heard rumours of the country’s plans to do those things anyway, but the fact that they had to go through all this bureaucracy just to confirm that the freak was a freak was ridiculous. So, he figured if they needed someone skilled to confront the thing and mark its skin with its digits, he'd be the one to do it. Dima had been a tattooist in another life, long before he knew anything about conflict and was as blissfully ignorant as anyone else. By now, he had learned that mercy was a weakness, and when it came to things that downright swore at nature and science, you either killed it or kept it in a box.</p><p>He wasn't afraid of the thing. It looked so miserable with its dark skin and messy curls. It probably knew to take on the appearance of the world's most pitiful in order to buy sympathy and ultimately use it against real humans. Thankfully, Dima had no sympathy for it, baby-faced or not. He grabbed its arm with a tight grip and the person beside him flinched as though it might just go off. Though Dima wasn't a fan of cowards, he was glad to have someone who could get to their gun fast enough in case of any emergencies. He stretched its arm out and brought the tattoo pen to life. Its dead eyes rose from the table to his face, glistening with fear. How Vanda Maximova could be so inhumane yet still afraid of something like needles—</p><p>He paused. How did he know this thing was afraid of needles? Better yet, how did he know its name?</p><p>Dima turned slightly, like the voice at the back of his mind would be physically behind him. Ignore it. He would do exactly that. After all, he probably read it in a report or something. Besides, considering the way the freak was cringing, its fear was obvious. </p><p>Surprisingly, when the needles began its track along the first zero, it didn't flinch or squeal. It merely sank, eyes returning to their former dead state. Like a possum, maybe its fight-or-flight response was playing dead. But whatever, the science behind the alien was above his pay grade. </p><p>✦</p><p>‘Ma'am!’ A palm slammed the table before Va—Wanda, and she jumped quite literally back into her own body, blinking frantically before the two men before her. ‘You're free to go.’ </p><p>Her arm stung with a fiery pain, and when she checked it, she found several zeros preceding a one—her code. At this point, the line between a prisoner and a weapon was blurrier than ever. </p><p>As long as they kept her alive, she thought, she would consider herself to be firmly in the valuable weapon criteria. They would torment her, but they wouldn't kill her. Slowly, she rose and stumbled on numb legs back to the lobby where Steve would be waiting for her.</p><p>Steve. The bulking man and the only person in the world who believed she was worth more than just a prisoner sprinted across her mind, and she wondered if he knew they were going to do this. If he knew, she would have known too. Then again, he could have hidden it far beneath his consciousness in this grand ploy to trick Wanda into doing who knows what.</p><p>She would have checked under his brain the second she saw him in the lobby, but when Wanda arrived, Steve was gone. In his place was the spy who fought beside him—Natasha Romanoff. From the second that Wanda met Natasha, she didn’t like the spy’s mind. It was too similar to her own: identities built from trauma after trauma, all in the name of one form of exploitation or the other. </p><p>The only difference was that Natasha didn’t mind. She revelled in it. If she was raised to be amoral and disposable, then she would be so remorselessly. </p><p>Now, her assignment was being a spy for the country, and more importantly, being Steve’s friend. That’s why Natasha greeted Wanda with a scowl and crossed arms, leaping on every form of asserting her dominance. Wanda was already intimidated enough. </p><p>‘We’re all fucked, you know.’ The braided whip of her tone led Wanda to hang her head instinctively. She knew all too well from HYDRA how far anger and disappointment could go.</p><p>Natasha got to her own feet, approaching Wanda in heels high enough to have her towering over the little girl. ‘Thanks to you, Steve is leaping from congressman to congressman just trying to make sure we don’t all get thrown in jail for—oh, I don’t know—saving people like we’re meant to do. All because you wanted to get revenge. I hope you’re happy.’</p><p>Wanda’s lip trembled with great shame. This was the first time that anybody had said it aloud. People had died because of Wanda, and more people would die because of her too. All too stunned by the revelation, Wanda had nothing to say as Natasha huffed and began on her way out of the lobby. ‘Hurry up. I’ll leave you behind if you can’t walk fast.’</p><p>✦</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. cladogenesis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘Here’s some ground rules. Anything you’re thinking, this place is already nine steps ahead. You try anything funny and they'll definitely send you straight to wherever the hell is indefinite confinement. Not that they’re afraid of you, but Congress would pounce to use your teenage mood swings as evidence to support their case for international superhuman genocide. So maybe just do what everybody tells you to do and we won’t have a problem. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ponj’la</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha spoke with such haste and power that Wanda’s mind floated to how long it must have taken her to reach this point, and if she herself could ever adopt a role so false. Vying for the affections of Americans through total and unquestioned cooperation—fully killing the Vanda inside her to be Wanda, the girl that everybody needs her to be—Wanda couldn’t imagine coming close. And, as though to prove just how far away she was from that point, she said, ‘I don’t speak Russian.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Natasha frowned. Though she kept the wheel steady, her eyes never quite rested on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t speak Russian,’ Wanda repeated defiantly. ‘Don’t speak English. Neither language was taught to me back home.’ Not formally anyway. Even when Wanda was just a child in a village, local schools weren’t so welcoming to Romani Jews.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hm,’ Natasha pursed her lips. ‘Here’s something else you should know—nobody here gives a damn about what you are. What matters is your survival. So I’ll ask you again: understood?’ Venom coated that last word with such fury that Wanda nodded, no retort on her tongue. ‘Good. Now, stop hunching over with your eyes wide like that. Nobody is going to eat you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda did as she was told. Cold crawled its way beneath her jacket and crept along her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Natasha continued, ‘You don’t have a home. Even if you managed to swindle the entire country, Sokovia wouldn’t be any kinder to you than here—you know that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Wanda knew that. She wasn’t completely stupid; she just wasn’t ready to hear it spoken as fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, find a new one here. You don’t have to stop fighting just because they told you that you lost.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would fighting mean at this point? Before, it meant doing whatever it took to survive alongside the boy who would hoist her on his back and break the sound barrier using his legs alone. There was a point to life and goals to achieve and people to get back at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But with that boy gone and all those goals faded, Wanda couldn’t see what the fight was. She had already been branded as something less than human—something deserving of the prickling numbers on the inside of her forearm. What sort of home would she be building in a country where they would refrain from torture only as long as guidelines said so? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda elected not to respond and rested her head against the car window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had made space at his place, although his place was a humble apartment with a single room, a far cry from what Wanda had previously thought all Americans were into. Despite his residence, most of his things seemed to still be in boxes only partially unpacked, collecting months of dust on their cardboard bodies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha switched on the light to the damp place and strode in like she knew it by the back of her hand. She always walked like that—like she could control the entire world with just her boots and her pistol. Wanda, on the other hand, found herself shrinking, unsure what to do or where to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re in luck,’ Natasha called from a few rooms away. The bathroom or the kitchen, maybe. ‘This man eats. He’s got pasta and—just pasta apparently. You should probably eat while you can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, food was the last thing on Wanda’s mind. She would probably be sick trying to put anything in a stomach so full of all the nauseating events of late. The more she thought about it, the more the room began to sway and float, dancing outside the control of gravity. Wanda stumbled in the direction of Natasha’s voice until she found the woman, nose scrunched, trying to salvage all things still fresh from a refrigerator. ‘The bathroom?’ Wanda croaked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just the door ahead,’ Natasha answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda didn’t waste a second hurrying to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her, heartbeat drumming up a war song. Hastily, she rushed through cabinets in search of something sharp. One of the cabinets rewarded her with a tiny container full of replacement razors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chest heaving, she took a blade in trembling hands, careful not to catch her fingertips on any of the edges. How thick she would need to cut to remove the numbers on her arms, she couldn’t tell, but she was determined nonetheless. The blade split the black ink from brown skin, but only for a few seconds before pain seared through the length of her arm and she dropped the thing with a silent scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was it. Too weak and cowardly to fight. That was what defined Wanda, and quite frankly, this is how they wanted her to be. She sunk to the ground, knees against her chest. Pjetro wouldn’t have let them brand him like this. He would have run around the whole world before they could catch him. Even if they did get him, he would have died before he let them reduce him to chattel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did die. He died so proudly and left Wanda all alone to die this far slower and humiliating death—prancing around in an identity that belonged to nobody in the name of survival. Whatever survival this was, it stopped making sense the second Wanda got here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda stared at the bloodied blade on the ground. It had no mind. It couldn’t reveal to her anything more intimate than the Vision could. Before she could look deeper into it, the sound of Steve pulled her from any absurd ideas and she quickly threw the thing in the bin before hiding the mess she made on her arm beneath a sleeve. Stalking in the shadows, she crept until Steve’s mind was close enough to actually comprehend words too fast to make out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re just, they’re just—’ Sighs punctuated every other second of his sentence. Wanda could feel Natasha’s brain there too, but Steve’s was far more gripping. ‘They won’t listen. They’re going ahead. Even if she’s a law-abiding citizen under my sponsorship or whatever, she’s still—I mean, it’s not even about her anymore. They won’t say it anymore, but it’s clear. They want every other remotely special person under control—they want me under control—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, you do what you always do and flip ‘em off.’ Natasha’s voice filled the air in a tone far different from anything she gave Wanda. Kinder. Warmer. ‘They can’t force anything—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They already have. And they’re starting with Wanda because she’s so easy to just—’ he sighed again. ‘One hundred and thirty-two pages on every way they can and will use her, okay? That’s inside the box. They made these—these things, these collars—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Subtle much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not even for the—for like a symbol or whatever. It’s to switch off powers.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha had no retort now, and the silence had Wanda worried they would notice her lurking. ‘They can do that?’ Natasha asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know,’ Steve answered with a similar weakness to his voice now. ‘I—I don’t want to know. If they can switch off powers—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But what about for someone like you? Even if they could reverse the effects of the super serum, there’s no way they could reverse years of exercise, of actually eating—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They could reverse my lungs back to the way they were before.’ Wanda crept closer, struggling to hear Steve as his words broke down into near whispers. ‘I wouldn’t be able to survive that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but they can’t make you wear it though,’ Natasha said. This optimism in the face of a blatant catastrophe was probably what she had meant by “fighting”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They will.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They can’t make you wear this one right now, though. I mean, that’s all levels of unconstitutional, and if it really came to it, we would run, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The low whir of the refrigerator got louder with every second that Steve was unable to express the same hope, until finally, a sigh led him back into the conversation again. ‘Regardless, they want it on Wanda.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When? And for how long?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sigh. Steve’s footsteps echoed throughout the kitchen and Wanda thought to retreat until she realised he was approaching her. It was no surprise that he knew she was there, but what was surprising was the most sombre look on his face when he caught her gaze. His lips parted with the heaviness of all that weighed down in his mind. Apologies, excuses, promises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry that he didn’t do more. It wasn’t his fault though; Wanda shouldn’t have worked with Nazis in the first place. Sorry that she didn’t know what they were. Sorry that she didn’t have much choice. In the paradise that his subconscious planned to build, every child would have the choice to survive with or without morals. He didn’t say any of this aloud though, instead replacing all of it with another heavy sigh and folding his arms over his barrel chest. ‘There are papers to be signed,’ he told her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t make her sign that,’ Natasha snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s not much else we can do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There is! We go back, we tell them—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you think I’ve been doing all this time!?’ Steve yelled, arms thrown in the air. As soon as he spoke was as soon as regret came flooding in. Wanda left his mind—better the incoherence of English than understanding this man all too much. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. Thankfully now, Wanda didn’t know what he was sorry for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went over to the leather briefcase on the table and unclicked it, lifting the thing open. Inside were cartons, which fit neatly into his two huge hands as he set them aside, and two thick reams of paper. He turned to Wanda, ‘You know what’s inside?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scanned his mind to find out. One ream had every single law she would be breaking by so much as breathing the wrong way and another for her to “consent” to each law. She also latched onto the desperate chant in Steve’s mind—</span>
  <em>
    <span>it could be worse, it could be worse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If Steve was optimistic enough to at least force himself to think that in order to get through this, then Wanda wanted some of that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the ream that needed a signature on every other page. ‘May I have a pen?’ she asked quietly. Natasha scowled furiously as Steve handed over a pen, and Wanda didn’t want to touch all that bitterness and rage with a ten foot pole. There was enough inside herself already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastily, the unique scribble that Wanda had made up on the spot filled every line on every other page until she reached the last page and put the pen down. ‘That’s all, is it not?’ Wanda asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded and opened one of the cartons. Inside it, a metal band that seemed perfectly sized for all necks. Lights blinked on its edges, as though it might have been a fun party accessory in another life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha spoke through gritted teeth as the man brought the band to Wanda’s neck. ‘Don’t—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a dampening device,’ Steve said, ignoring Natasha. ‘Whatever your abilities are, it’ll weaken them so you can’t use them on other people or beyond a certain distance.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dam-pen-ing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Steve.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s got a chip, so you will be tracked, in case you need to be found immediately.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Steve!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t take it off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda nodded curtly and the band clipped around her neck. The abrupt silence was just like when Pjetro died—cold, dark, nothingness despite the two people around her and the warm lights filling the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Compliance won’t make peace,’ Natasha said. Wanda couldn’t tell at all now what those words meant, why the woman’s nostrils flared so widely, what the edge to her voice was. Fear? Anger? All of it was confusing and foggy. ‘All you’re doing is opening the door for them to put a collar on everybody. They’ll kill us all and it’s people like you who’ll call it a necessary evil.’ The clack of her heels resounded through the apartment as Natasha stormed out, slamming the door on her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda started at the sound and looked up to Steve, voice weak as she asked, ‘What did she say?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Boredom? Loneliness? Anger too? With how little his face moved and all that he couldn’t say in a way that Wanda could understand, he was just as confusing. ‘Nothing important. You should get some rest.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rest. She had heard it before from the HYDRA scientists in charge of her brother. ‘Like sleep?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded. ‘There’s a bed in the room just down there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew what a bed was, courtesy of not having one for so long and she knew where he was pointing. It was a miracle that some gestures transcended language barriers. Between hunched shoulders, she did away with herself and crept to the room—the only one with a bed. She recognised this gesture too. Pjetro did the same with his food before either of them had powers. Took all that he had and handed it to Wanda without explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory formed a lump in her throat that made her want to run away from everyone and everything. The collar tightened around that lump.                   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. latibule</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For the same reason that HYDRA kept its subjects caged, SHIELD’s compromise to avoid doing the same was having Wanda monitored by military personnel. They may as well have locked her up, but Steve promised her this was much better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Once they have you in indefinite confinement, there’s no way out of it,’ Steve told her. He did his best to explain each part of the Accords that had been drafted so far. “Indefinite confinement” was  the answer for any clause broken, per the Accords. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda didn’t know how to tell Steve that she had been confined before and it didn’t exactly kill her. She didn’t know how to tell him anything beyond ‘Okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he told her something about a military personnel who they could count on, Wanda nodded along without considering all the worst possible ways involving another person could go. After all, if Steve thought it was a good idea—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, Wanda didn’t know what Steve thought. Not with the collar around her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier when the chances of Steve lying were negligible. Now that Wanda struggled to decipher his very words, his intentions were a total enigma. Steve wanted her to trust him and by extension, everyone that he trusted. Wanda was still getting around to trusting him, even if her consent to all of this was already signed in ink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve acted with total confidence, swift movements around the house and phone calls answered without missing a beat. He spoke too fast for Wanda to eavesdrop. She was still assessing how dire the situation was when Steve was at the front door, tying his boots. ‘We need to go,’ he said one morning, neglecting to mention why or where. Wanda couldn’t decide his haste was proof of his total honesty or deceit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Early September was not very friendly, so Wanda replaced her light jacket with a burgundy leather one she had found lying around. She followed Steve out of his apartment. D.C. echoed their haste, the footsteps of dozens as loud as they were silent. The buzz of voices and engines were meaningless to Wanda, every word slipping from her hands the second she caught onto them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was indifferent to it all, easily finding his way through monotonous streets and avenues identical in all but numbers. Wanda kept close to him—with nothing but sight to keep them connected, she was certain she would get lost if she looked away for even a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve came to an abrupt stop, Wanda wasn’t sure of what she was meant to be looking at. Almost a metre shorter than him, whatever Steve was looking at, Wanda couldn’t have possibly sighted. There wasn’t much to look at to begin with—or there was too much. Dull and tall buildings in this country often hid behind neatly groomed trees and motionless cars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda focused on him, forcing her way through the barrier of her own mind. The wall that had formed between her and the energy around her was large and firm, but when she tried hard enough, she could feel the tendrils of her abilities from afar. It glowed and shimmered almost in mockery, like it knew somehow that Wanda was no longer its master and she never would be if she didn’t figure out a way around this collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s mind was a whisper in the dark, but Wanda could recognise it easily having been inside it before. Desperately, she latched onto what she could and for the split second that she held his mind, she could see what he was looking at. Or rather, who.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a blink, Wanda was back in herself and two steps behind Steve, approaching his target now. His target—the young bearded man leaving a shelter two blocks ahead. The most irritating thing about the information that Wanda was about to catch was that it was always only fragments. Who the young man was or why Steve approached him so casually, that was beyond Wanda. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon seeing Steve, the man’s face lit up with such obvious glee—then fell when his gaze flicked to Wanda. ‘Look, when you say favor in this century,’ he began, ‘it doesn’t always involve something illegal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve folded his lips into a thin smile, which had to be the closest thing to</span>
  <em>
    <span> happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Wanda had seen on his face since she got here. ‘It's just for a while,’ he said, but the edge to his tone said otherwise. ‘If they give it up this time—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They're pretty damn bent on going through with it,’ the man scoffed. He and Natasha might have been brethren in opposing Steve's optimism. ‘What am I supposed to do with . . .’ Wanda locked eyes with the man and, almost like he could feel her boring into his soul, he shook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Drive her around or something. It's just for the day,’ Steve spoke beneath his breath before addressing Wanda at normal volume. ‘This is Sam. You can trust him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand that Sam held out came with a clear stipulation—for both Wanda and Sam, their mutual trust happened only through Steve. And with Wanda barely okay with doing whatever Steve told her to, that stipulation was a fragile one on her part. Pushing her doubts to the edge of her mind, she took his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grip ripped her from her own body into sandy asphalt, dark nights, moths kissing camping lamps, burning body parts. War. She jerked and found herself back in some American city, in her own body and staring at this new person, Sam. ‘You good?’ he asked, brows pinching together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, heart racing as it occurred to her what had just happened. She had broken through the wall, the dampener, even if it did need physical contact. Small steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve approached to put a palm on Sam’s shoulder and mutter something to him. If Wanda could touch Steve, she’d know what. Steve left Sam, but not before doing the same to Wanda. As his palm came to her shoulder, she immediately reached out to the ropes she had gotten so used to and hoisted herself inside his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be weird about it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had said. “It” being the fact that Wanda could perform what some would consider miraculous. “It” being the fact that she was officially a terrorist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s hand left her shoulder, mind torn away from hers. Goosebumps tightened her skin. She hated this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was kind for the most part. He figured if Steve could pull off lugging around dead weight, he could do it twice as well on a road trip. ‘Can you speak English?’ Sam asked as he rummaged through the boot of his car. ‘And I mean no offense by that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda couldn’t fully get what the last part meant, so she focused on the first part and shook her head. ‘Very small.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the boot, a gaudy scarf emerged. Dust bunnies leapt as he shook it out and handed it to Wanda. ‘For your . . . thing,’ he gestured to his neck. Whatever Steve had said about not being weird had gone ignored. Wanda didn't need her abilities to see how violently uncomfortable this man was. He offered the scarf at arms length, an innately human intuition to stay away from obvious danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Wanda drank up the physical contact in taking the scarf as her fingertips brushed over his knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waterfalls. Rib cage cracked open. Burning sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shivers shook her back to the present when Sam looked bewildered and all but threw the scarf at her. ‘Come on,’ he swallowed. Fear? Anger? Trying to decipher emotions now was like swimming with a weight on her ankle and Wanda would drown in her own spiralling mind if she didn’t find another to latch on to. She wrapped the bright fabric around her neck and got into the backseat without question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To give him credit, it wasn’t entirely his fault when he crashed the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swam so easily into kinder territory—small talk and occasional silence filled by the radio. ‘Do you like the weather?’ he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda couldn’t stop her scowl. Sokovia had been colder at times, sure, but she had never been good with cold at all. ‘No,’ she answered curtly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right,’ he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. He turned up the radio, flicked through radios like no song suited babysitting a terrorist. He settled on the news. A space object on track for Earth that people had already speculated to be aliens again. He turned down the radio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda didn’t mind any of it. She just wished that these Americans didn’t make such a show of their discomfort. It’d be a lot easier if Sam wasn’t trying so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘You’re from Ukraine?’ he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Wanda sniffed bitterly. Ukraine was literally on the other side of the continent from her home country.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Russia?’ Sam guessed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sokovia.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam wasn't subtle. Though he faced the road, Wanda could see his fists tighten on the wheel. His eyelids fluttering madly as though—much like Vision—he was processing a million thoughts in a second. In the rearview mirror, she saw his gaze glance over the glovebox.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda snapped. She threw herself from the backseat, hands gripping Sam’s shoulders violently. The man opened his mouth to scream, but his body wasn’t his anymore by the time ze was done. The wall that had blocked out her abilities shattered and Wanda was</span>
  <em>
    <span> thriving. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This is where she belonged—the hand above all the marionettes. Adjusting to this new body, she struggled to stay in control of the car, speeding through Sam’s knowledge of driving. If he could do it, she could do it too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then came the burning sun, sandy asphalt. Wanda wasn’t where she was meant to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t where he was meant to be. Screeching tyres were their saving grace as the man’s subconscious kicked in. Desperately, he spun the wheel, stamping on the breaks. He was too late to stop the car when it went off the road and met a tree. The force shoved Wanda out of his mind and into her own weaker, lesser self.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tree had saved them from a worse fate. Wanda might have killed a man—again. She reached ahead to touch the unmoving body, only for it to snap to life. It spun around to face her, flared nostrils and creased forehead detailing what was so obviously fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME?’ Sam yelled. Wanda didn’t know how to answer. There probably wasn’t a good answer in any language for such a question. He hurried out of the car and despite its wreckage, Wanda heard a click when he slammed the door shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam kept his eyes trained on her, so she moved slowly to test the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t budge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indefinite confinement, probably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Sam’s eyes locked on her own, Wanda watched as he brought out his phone, lips moving hastily when he pressed it to his ear. It was easy to imagine the conversation he was having. It was a conversation most people seemed to have upon learning of her abilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a freak. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a monster.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Somebody, get rid of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was kind. So when he was done with his calls after what felt like hours, he opened the car door. ‘Get out,’ he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda scurried out like a rat. She had seen the worst before, yet something this minor left her legs too wobbly to stand on. Her knees met the grass as air escaped her in gasps. Even if Sam was kind, she couldn't switch off the alarms sounding in her mind. Sam was kind, but when would he have her restrained in a straightjacket for being too powerful? When would he return her to needles stabbing her skin?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spy arrived before anyone else, which came as no surprise. She left her bike with such a ferocity that Wanda imagined the woman would slap her for this whole shitshow. Instead, she greeted Sam with a firm shake and a tight smile on her lips. ‘Sergeant Wilson, I apologise for the inconvenience,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, listen,’ Sam hissed, ‘this thing is completely nuts. I don’t know what she did, but—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m well aware of her abilities,’ Natasha said, staring straight at Wanda. Wanda averted her gaze to the ground. Ants balanced along the edge of an orange leaf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you still wanna move with her?’ Sam scoffed. ‘You’re out of your mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get that a lot,’ Natasha smiled. ‘Thank you for your service. I’ll have the damages paid before night.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam didn’t get the chance to continue arguing about the devil that was Wanda Maximoff once Natasha dragged her away, fist tight around her arm. It was tight enough that the pain combined with the dampening collar left Wanda no opportunity to leave her body again. Begrudgingly, she stuck to herself as Natasha led her to the bike. The spy tossed Wanda a helmet and grunted, ‘Hold on tight or you'll die.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that Natasha had killed repeatedly before was assurance enough that Wanda wouldn't be missed if she really did die. Hastily, she fitted her head and tangled hair into the helmet before mounting the bike. It roared just as she fitted her feet onto the pegs and clutched the tank. Natasha didn't waste a second before ripping off at a speed that could have been fast if Wanda didn't know someone faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride was the thunder of the storm. Loud and terrifying, but nothing compared to the lightning itself—Natasha. Once they reached Steve’s apartment, she flung Wanda to the ground. Natasha's heels struck the floorboards, sharp as a bullet. ‘How the hell did you screw up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda swallowed. She had been here before, at the feet of a being superior to herself. The difference was at least then there was always a weapon or an escape. There was Pietro around to save her or the coils of her energy at her fingertips, ready to attack. At Natasha’s feet, solitude was her only ally. With no answer to defend herself, Natasha came for her. A knife appeared at her throat in a single second, jacket lapel squeezed in the spy’s fist. ‘How?’ Natasha growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I—I don’t know,’ Wanda breathed, trying to escape from Natasha’s firm grasp. ‘I—I was  trying to see if I could—There was something wrong with his mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blade came, pressing into the skin above the dampening collar, and Wanda desperately wished to be anybody else in that moment. ‘Does it look like the right place to be using your ability?’ Natasha snapped. ‘I know you can understand English, so get this—this country wants to kill you. And every time you use your silly little magic tricks, the only person holding them back loses every defense he has for you. So suck up whatever grief or resentment you’re going through and stop fucking up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha dropped the squirming girl and through some magic of her own, the knife was nowhere to be seen. ‘You’re gonna stay in this apartment. Do not try anything smart. And give me my goddamn jacket.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda didn’t need another warning. She had taken the worse end of enough sharp objects to last a lifetime. She took off the jacket and resigned to the room that Steve had given up for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. resipiscence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Natasha was a practical woman. Much like the Vision, direct action preceded all other solutions to any given problem. For her, the legal dilemma of a not-quite-human not-quite-terrorist not allowed outside alone had a simple solution: keeping the subject inside. If Wanda didn’t have the opportunity to screw up, then the government would have nothing to use against her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The foolproof plan had Natasha trained on her like a hawk. Cages weren’t so necessary with her. Every step that Wanda took, Natasha had positioned herself at some corner of the small apartment where nothing would escape her sight. For four days, Wanda resigned herself to the room that had been made hers, starving as long as she possibly could to avoid Natasha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing now that the collar couldn’t completely separate her from her abilities, Wanda wanted to try everything that she could to get them back. She had yet to come up with a solution to the problem that was Natasha. The woman wouldn’t allow Wanda to get close to anything that could be fashioned as a weapon, let alone damage her collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was truly miraculous, then, that SHIELD needed Natasha elsewhere. She was still a spy and all sorts of international warfare was still at a high. Steve was spending all his time running from congressman to congressman, and Sam wouldn’t be caught dead in the vicinity of the person he came to address as </span>
  <em>
    <span>that freaky little magic girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wanda could understand the difficulties in trying to accommodate some random monster systematically targeted by every country that mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she couldn’t understand was why they were all so eager to bend over backwards just to win by the rules of the enemy. And didn’t they realise that Wanda didn’t want to play this drawn out mind game?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Wanda’s fifth midnight of watching Natasha’s shadow, mentally preparing various escape routes, when the shadow began to approach her bedroom. Wanda hurried back to her bed, but the creaks gave her away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know you’re awake,’ Natasha sighed, switching on the warm light of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if she was awake, Wanda wasn’t immune to the pain of bright lights after hours of darkness. A palm at her forehead, Wanda croaked, ‘What do you want?’ She had gotten better at mirroring Natasha’s general weariness in her tone. The spy appeared to respect her for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t be here tomorrow, so there’ll be a handover with someone . . . different,' Natasha told Wanda, sitting on her bed with no invitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda’s bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda, albeit reluctantly, was finding some sense of home here. Pjetro would have gagged. At this point, she was a traitor to everyone. To Pjetro Maximov, to Vanda Maximova, to the people who birthed them, to HYDRA, to Sokovia. Much like Natasha, she was almost ready to be anything that was asked of her by the Americans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that readiness Wanda merely nodded. A handover with a stranger? She didn’t mind. If Steve needed her to be okay with it, then of course, she’d go as far as even smiling at this new person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s important is that you don’t forget what you’re here for,’ Natasha continued. ‘Steve wants you to be able to grow here.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>grow. Learn new things and not eat breakfast with a soldier or a spy. And you know what?’ She leaned closer, close enough that Wanda caught her powdery scent and wanted to hug her for it. ‘I do too. I know I haven’t been nice, but I want you to have a better life than this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had to be the biggest surprise since Wanda set foot on this land. She could imagine such words from someone like Steve, the universal carer, or even Sam, who enjoyed taking Steve’s inclination to care to another level. Natasha, however, had been built from head to toe in the vein of spring’s snow. Unmelting, even under the burning gaze of the sun. This sudden warmth left Wanda speechless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘People like us,’ Natasha turned away, ‘we don’t get a lot of chances to live normally.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was about Natasha, Wanda realised. Natasha needed Wanda to be the pitiful exploited Russian village girl in a foreign land more than anybody else—what else would the spy fill her emptiness with? Wanda would have loved to see Natasha’s face, to recognise desperate sorrow even without her abilities, but Natasha had rebuilt the sheet of ice over her being when she turned back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whatever you do, don’t use your abilities,’ Natasha said. ‘Promise me this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I won’t,’ Wanda answered weakly. Even if she wanted to, it would mean a fight against the thing around her neck that left her abilities most distant with every passing day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha nodded. ‘I got a treat for you too. Well, Steve did, but he isn’t here, so . . .’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda followed the older woman to the kitchen, where she found a small white carton on the counter. The last box Steve got her had contained the tool for her damnation. She glanced at Natasha, who chuckled as Wanda approached the thing hesitantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Trust me, it’s nothing evil.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda opened it to find a large slice of the same cake she had eaten with Steve two weeks ago. With her senses dulled, she had half a mind to pick apart every crumb to make sure it hadn’t been contaminated like the cake that the Vision gave her. Hunger, however, far exceeded her sense of danger and before she knew it, Wanda had most of it down her throat. It had already been days since her last meal. Even if was poisoned, she wasn’t going to waste time scrutinizing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha must have mistaken the desperation for enthusiasm, as she held a warm smile watching Wanda eat. Wanda returned it. She knew better than to correct a misconception when it earned her food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering Wanda hadn’t had much to eat, the cake felt filling enough that she couldn’t stay up much longer and fell asleep with ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheap, warm yellow lights wrenched Wanda from Sokovian wastelands back into a humble bedroom somewhere in America. The shadow in the doorway revealed itself to be Natasha. Judging by the lines across her forehead, she wasn’t around to reveal her hidden maternal tendencies anymore. ‘It’s time to go,’ she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young girl sat up and glanced at the window. Not a drop of sunlight was visible. ‘What time is it?’ Wanda croaked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Three,’ Natasha spoke curtly, ‘time to go. We won’t make it on time if you keep asking questions.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I only asked one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wanda thought to say, but she knew the ground she stood on with the spy was extremely thin. Hastily, she washed her face and made a pitiful mouthwash from toothpaste and spit before finding Natasha at the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha wore her leather jacket, which left Wanda with the light cloth counterpart. Hopefully, her envy didn’t show so obviously. Wanda liked to think that everyone else had just as hard a time figuring out thoughts as she did with the collar on her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of them travelled lamp-lit streets and, despite Natasha’s warnings, Wanda exercised her abilities every now and then. Even with the collar, her abilities existed in the periphery, a rope she couldn’t quite reach yet or a limb too numb. When she stretched the edges of her mind, Wanda would brush against it and the whole world would light up in a completely new shade, but only for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that second, Wanda became privy to all the secrets of the world, every driver speeding by and lurker creeping around. That light would leave though and Wanda would let out a small sigh that earned her a glance from Natasha. A few moments of rest and subtlety preceded her reaching out again, primarily with Natasha as her target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha had a unique mind. Somehow, she had learned what to keep on the surface and what to keep buried. Without the collar, it had all seemed to be on the same layer—the woman’s deepest desires and trivial memories. Now though, Wanda could only touch upon random numbers and letters each time she reached out and exerted herself. A two-hour journey should have left her with at least some opening to Natasha’s mind. Its only gift was fatigue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Wanda looked around, she found that they had returned to where they had been registered. The sight of the plaza stole the bones from her legs and she shook with fright. Tall boxes battling stout buildings for territory—Wanda had stored this away for her nightmares. It didn’t help that at the center of the plaza was none other than Steve. The man who usually brought such joy to Wanda had her now convinced that they were planning to recreate the events of Vanda’s death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Book us a taxi next time,’ Natasha told Steve, hanging behind as she pushed the girl towards him. ‘The kid might love walking around the city, but it’s hell in Louboutins.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry about this,’ Steve smiled weakly. ‘Thank you so much for bringing her here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a special naïveté to being unable to read minds. Without being able to read Steve’s mind, Wanda hoped that Steve would inform her of good news; that the government had given up their political campaign of hunting her and she was now free to live her own life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he only provided thanks to Natasha, who left soon after, and a small nod to Wanda. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These people were weird. Their wide array of emotions left Wanda juggling to figure them all out and make sense of them. Steve led her into the building where she had been registered and before she knew it, she had caught his thick elbows in her palms, shaking with fear. ‘Do—Do they need to register me again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shook his head. ‘No need to be afraid. We’re just waiting here for the person you’re being handed over to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda frowned. ‘Isn’t it you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness that fell over his face sent Wanda’s stomach sinking. If it wasn’t him, then she wasn’t too sure if she could trust Steve or Natasha. Even if they wore these somber faces as they sent her to her doom, they were still agents of the government. No doubt they had planned to kill her more mercifully. Wanda wanted to break out of the collar on her neck, take on the world without a fear. Steve’s hand on her head had a dampening effect of its own. ‘I wish it was, but we had to make some sacrifices.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she knew it, her lungs had taken their own uncontrollable pace, trying to catch uncatchable air too quickly and the collar around her throat tightened, it’s grip determined to choke the air out of her. Her hands shook as she reached for the thing but a spark drew them away and Steve watched her with such concern, the same fearful concern that Sam had in his eyes. What startled them both out of it was the blaring nearby horn. It brought about a new fear—fear of the unknown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda debated whether to follow Steve or do her best to yank the collar off, but Steve was already leaving the building. She followed him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the road where the plaza began was a limousine so surreal, Wanda imagined her abilities had screwed her over by pushing her into a nightmare so real, she couldn’t tell the difference. The fact that the ground was still solid and not made of snow was the only sign of reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve led them down the forecourt to the limousine, each step resounding in the cavern of Wanda’s chest. The window rolled down to reveal the person who had begun everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hair slick back, bespectacled and stern-faced, in the comfort of billions of dollars, was Tony Stark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You must have left your brain in the ice, Cap’n.’ Wanda hadn’t forgotten his voice. She had burned it into her mind before she even met him. This was the man whose bombs killed her parents all those years ago. The man who destroyed everything a child could possibly own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rarely did the myths that drove others to violence and madness appear so normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Had to throw out this reporter trying to convince me ethical veganism is killing Eskimos all so I could take a look at your ass chin at half-past four and for what?’ Tony spat. A short hush took its place over them, only to be driven out by Tony’s booming laughter. ‘No need to look so distraught, Fossil Man. I’ve only good intentions and I’d love to take a cross-country trip with the charity case herself.’ The door clicked open and Wanda would have leapt away if she could get her body to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony stepped out and though he had nothing on Steve’s stature, he still loomed over Wanda, every bit as large as he was powerful. The mocking smile that he had for Steve faltered as his gaze fell over the girl and he leaned closer, eyes narrowing. His fingers came to touch the collar on her neck. Wanda held her breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not so great when you lose control, is it, little witch?’ he murmured. ‘Thought our dear Cap’n would have left his thing for poor, huddled masses back in the ice, along with his thing for gypsy charity cases.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tony,’ Steve warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right, right.’ Tony stood upright and Wanda sobbed out the breath she held. ‘We’re all friends here, right? Fighting for the greater good and assisting in treason against the government. You go do what you need to do in D.C., I’ll stick around making sure this thing—sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> —gets all the rights she needs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda couldn’t tell from Steve’s face what was going on in his mind. Natasha’s warnings made sense now, though it would have been more useful if Natasha had been more direct about it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A day with the man who ruined your life</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have helped Wanda prepare for this moment more than just ominous instructions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, resentment was difficult when her brain was still reeling from the fact that Tony Stark was here, right now. ‘Get in,’ he told her, ‘it’s at least five hours to Duplin County breaking a few laws.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda stared at him. How was she even here right now? She should have died from the shell, from the homelessness, from the frostbite, from the endless sanctions on Sokovia, from the literal human experiments conducted by Nazis, from the homicidal robots flying around Novi Grad only one or two months ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What sort of god was cruel enough to perform all those miracles to bring her here? A large palm against her back reminded Wanda of the gods she was dealing with now. America and its pawns—too heartless to care for someone they would much sooner treat as a prisoner. Steve was the exception and only because Steve, like her, was too far removed from the standards of normal. ‘It’s just for the day,’ he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you don’t act up,’ Tony added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Captain America’s job was saving people, Steve should have swooped her away and tossed the smaller man aside instead of bringing her to him. This was wrong, yet Wanda didn’t have the mouth or guts to say it. Her legs brought her into the darkness of the limousine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ultimately, her silence had become compliance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony got in behind her and not a moment was wasted in leaving Steve behind. Wanda clamoured to watch the only person she trusted become a speck in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How many times would Steve abandon her before she got the memo? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears hot on her lashes, Wanda turned back, only to find a gun in her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘God’s righteous man thought he could keep me out by taking you away from Vision,’ Tony chuckled, cocking the gun. ‘You know, that house was amazing. I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to stay there. You can’t tell me any old apartment is better than all those five-star delicacies Vision whipped up. You know, I thought the same thing too—I ran away from home once—but it was only a couple of days before I realised nobody cooked like Jarvis did. I realised people should stay in their place. You haven’t realised that yet, have you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she realised was that Tony wasn’t terrifying; Tony was repulsive, and she’d be damned if she cried before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah,’ Tony chuckled again at her silent defiance, ‘you must be saving your retorts for Guantanamo, huh?’ Still, the gun never left her face. ‘That’s fine. You’ll be there soon, if not some place worse. I saw what you did to Steve’s friend. Those powers even with a collar on ya? You must think you have a chance because our Messiah Man makes it his mission to tell cancer kids there’s still hope. I’ll put it nicely—there is no hope. Uncle Sam’s playing cat and mouse with Steve to distract him from the bigger picture. You think this starts and ends with you? You couldn’t even begin to imagine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The glock’s not going anywhere by the way.’ The glock in question made a motion in the air and Wanda followed it like a fly around her head. ‘I know you must have put a spell on Nat to make someone like her go along with Sprangle Boy’s idealism, but you won’t get the chance to do that with me. This whole trip is gonna be you, me, and our semi-automatic ol’ pal Gaston.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spoke a lot. That was another thing. It infuriated Wanda enough that she did away with Natasha’s warnings. The spy would never know. And if she ever found out, well, Wanda didn’t owe her obedience. She could feel him, Tony’s mind, beyond the wall. The sensation was numb, but it sparked just like everyone else. Only difference is that this time, when she broke through the wall and hauled herself into his mind, she didn’t find what she had expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t anything uniquely him—monstrous and malicious—going on in his mind. It was just normal facts, surface level. The limousine was too hot for him. He wanted to call the reporter he left. Whatever fuelled his desire to intimidate came from somewhere too far out of Wanda’s reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, aren’t you just the most terrifying thing, getting into my head like that.’ If he wasn’t repulsive, Tony’s smile might have been charming. ‘Happy, put on something loud. Give this witch some peace of mind.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Per his request, a cacophony of guitars blared throughout the car, too distracting for Wanda to stay in even her own mind. Tony smiled at her obvious discomfort and nodded along to the roars of total misanthropy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. acescence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Tony slept in spite of his threats. Phone calls stole his caution and Wanda must have proven herself some degree of trustworthy, because he eventually put the gun down, yawned and promptly fell asleep. City roads sloped down into highways populated with so many cars that Wanda was surprised to find D.C. came to life so early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this is what Americans meant when they said a place didn’t sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe each vehicle had a man like Stark, sleeping behind a darkened window and hoping to wake up at their destination, driven by some faceless albeit trustworthy driver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Highway signs gave her hope throughout the destination, only to leave her betrayed as the car continued to move in and out of states. Newer cities promised her with an end to the seemingly endless journey. There, the car would slow and garner the attention of passers-by who evidently didn’t see such glamour and luxury everyday. And once they made it past inner-city traffic, they’d be off again, speeding through nowhere with a destination of seemingly nowhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda couldn’t help but think about Pjetro. Pjetro could get wherever he wanted in seconds. He was strong too. He could probably take the entire limousine with him if he wanted. Then again, he was also dignified. He wouldn’t sit before Tony Stark as the latter’s waif. He wouldn’t let his sibling either. If Pietro got the chance to sit before a sleeping Tony Stark and a glock, somebody’s brains would be on the window by now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The roads transformed back to a boundless landscape. No other cars appeared to accompany them and the panel left too much distance for the driver to do anything. Tony Stark slept soundly and in his hands was the opportunity to end everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this was the real challenge. The strongest of men couldn’t give up the chance to achieve their dreams. Killing him had always been Wanda’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that was <em>Vanda’s</em>. Vanda’s and Pjetro’s, two children now dead. Here sat a weird remnant of the two—too similar to them to be trusted by the Americans, but too unlike them to carry out the mission they died for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s eyes snapped open and snatched the opportunity away. Wanda turned her gaze to the swamp running along the empty road. ‘Coulda taken the private jet, you know,’ Tony yawned, ‘woulda been here in half a second. But you legally can’t fly anywhere, thanks to your dumb revenge plot.’ He knocked on the panel behind him, restlessness throwing his legs in disarray. ‘Where are we now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just outside Kenansville, sir,’ came a muffled reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony groaned and threw his head down. ‘I hate this place.’ Up came his head again to look directly at Wanda. ‘You’d love it. No more arms of the enemy keeping you close. Just you and the most boring place you could hope to be stowed away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As with much of his monologue, Wanda could only catch on to the rest of his sentences. The rest of them were gibberish, ground down to meaninglessness as Wanda chose to stay silent. Despite her choice, she also wanted him to know just how much she didn’t care about what he said. He seemed like someone who thrived from domination, taking comfort in others’ discomfort. She wanted to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> discomforted;</span>
  <em>
    <span> him </span>
  </em>
  <span>being the one to sit at the back of someone else’s car and have no idea where he was going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, things like that didn’t happen to people like Stark. He was above such reciprocated morality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The limousine eventually came to another pause, but this time, no cars or traffic lights appeared to keep them stationary. The car door opened to a sweltering heat and the buzz of surrounding flies. They weren’t nowhere per say, but compared to the picturesque buildings that had been constructed around the city, this was nowhere. The tallest building didn’t appear to be able to fit the likes of Steve. If anything, it was reminiscent of the slums on the edge of Novi Grad. Tony stepped out into it and stretched. ‘Hurry up, Esméralda. We’ve only got all day.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she stepped out. Between the space she had been confined to for the past few hours and the humid air, she much preferred the latter. Still, it was a hot, suffocating air despite it being September. ‘You should see it when it snows,’ Tony said, though it wasn’t clear at this point who he was talking to. ‘Makes it look like there’s more to this town than junkies and hillbillies.’ He stalked off in no particular direction or so Wanda thought until he didn’t turn back. She hurried after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he stopped was a house so humble, the image of a billionaire before it in his suit seemed more menacing than anything else. She imagined similar houses might have existed prior to all those tourist spots and skyscrapers in D.C. and New York. Tony lifted the garage door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about it was just too normal—it couldn’t possibly have belonged to someone like Tony. If it did, then this must have been his secret life. What he did when he wasn’t inventing weapons or assisting in Wanda’s doom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped inside, drawn to a plush doll on the floor. Oil stains and tar had left the poor thing unsalvageable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The homeowners won’t appreciate it if you go pocketing what isn’t yours,’ Tony chided in a sing-song. Ironic, considering Tony had a greater habit of doing that, but Wanda kept to her vow of silence. Casually, he walked past her, through the garage and into the house. Wanda kept close behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door into the rest of the house led them up a creaky staircase and into a corridor with a door on either side and another staircase ahead. Tony was no stranger to this place, as he knew where to go, leading Wanda to the front of the house. The front door opened the second they landed and a short young boy entered. His mouth dropped at the sight of Tony. Wanda half-expected him to scream—perhaps he also had several things to settle with the tech mogul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, the boy said nothing, ignoring them both to head up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t I get a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>?’</em> Tony called after him. The boy remained silent. Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes like Wanda was in on whatever this was. Then he followed the boy and Wanda followed him too. ‘Come on, kid!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go away,’ the boy responded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, I haven’t been the best—’ A door slammed and cut off Tony’s words. He scoffed and opened the door again. The boy lay face down in a cushioned bed above checkered sheets. ‘Now you’re just being immature. What happened to your Iron Man blanket?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Threw it away,’ came a muffled response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Subtle much,’ Tony muttered. ‘Anyway. Merry Christmas. Happy Birthday, Easter, Hallowe’en, Thanksgiving. You got the five grand, didn’t you? That’s apology enough, isn’t it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want it.’ The boy finally raised his head, revealing a reddened face. ‘I don’t want anything to do with you or anything that you’re doing. Take the robot with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow, now you’re just—It’s only been fourteen months.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fourteen months,’ the boy echoed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not exactly free every day of the week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fourteen months.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Time goes by when you’re heading a major organisation, kid. Sorry that I had to meet so many world leaders instead of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda tried for her abilities again, reaching out beyond the wall to find the young boy’s mind. She expected rivers of plain intention and emotion, not unlike Tony’s. What she didn’t expect was another wall. She flinched and so did the boy, locking eyes with her. ‘Why did you come here?’ he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I told you before,’ Tony answered, ‘the thing needs a babysitter and I set you up as the official innovative tech manufacturer of the country. You’re military now and this thing is your duty.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy frowned. ‘I don’t want to manufacture anything for the country.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Keyword, </span>
  <em>
    <span>i</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>nnovative.</em> </span>
  <span>Nobody’s even going to look at you until they discover all the guns in the world can’t defeat the wrong enhanced. Plus—’ Tony turned to Wanda, directly addressing her now. ‘This is so much easier than all the loopholes our Messiah Man has been looking for, don’t you think? Stay put, don’t go anywhere. Not that you can, but—’ He tapped on Wanda’s collar. No shocks for him. ‘Sturdy thing gives us all insurance.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t like any of this,’ the boy grunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>,’</em> Tony said, ‘so when you’re done with your teenage angst, can you make sure this thing doesn’t terraform the entire continent, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty please?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> He moved past Wanda with ease, not a touch of caution. A performance, for the young boy—even if the boy didn’t believe in him anymore. ‘I’d stick around, say hi to your mom, but I’ve got a meeting with Musk and he doesn’t like being stood up. Not even by me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda stared at the boy as the man left the room, footsteps thudding down the stairs and out of the house. The boy sighed and got up with a groan, quite literally being done with his teenage angst. His gaze never left Wanda. ‘Are you human?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you speak?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ she answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want something to eat?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda did not enter the kitchen fully. She stood at the door, where she could see the boy as he pranced about from counter to refrigerator to cupboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re not a robot and you can talk, why don’t you talk more?’ The boy shook his head as though to answer his own question.  ‘You must be like me. I don’t talk much. I’m Harley, by the way. I like tech and stuff. Do you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Wanda answered curtly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley brought several things out onto the counter, as though nobody had quite taught him how to cook yet. Bread, beans, cookies, ketchup, lettuce—Wanda didn’t know what he planned to do with them all. ‘What do you like?’ he asked. He brought out a plate from the refrigerator that startled Wanda. It held the same perfect round cake that the Vision had given her weeks ago. Yet, Harley held no suspicion towards it, taking a huge bite out of it before he even put the plate down. Cream formed a small beard around his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda didn’t want the small talk anymore. She wanted to get out of here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you believe Iron Man thinks he can just bring some cake and some money and, ugh!’ Harley took another bite angrily. ‘Fourteen months and this is all I get. I don’t even care about money. My mom though—’ he scoffed, ‘she loves money so much. She’s going to spend all of it on something weird and tell the world about you. Last last Christmas, she had all these reporters around just to tell them about Iron Man. And you know what? Everybody in school thought I was insane and then I showed them the stuff he gave me and then they stole it! Can you believe it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching him skirt around the kitchen in a soliloquy much like Tony’s, Wanda imagined this was a thing that all Americans did. Turning whoever they could into the unwilling audience of some grand performance. Even if this was a child, Wanda didn’t want to entertain his droning, nor be entertained by it. ‘Are you his son?’ she grunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley cocked his head. ‘Whose?’ Wanda didn’t answer. She couldn’t physically say Tony’s name after everything. ‘You don’t sound like you’re from around here, by the way. And I’m meant to make you stuff too. Wait here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hurried out of the kitchen. Freedom was </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>While Harley’s footsteps thundered in a frenzy, Wanda crept up into the corridor. Home was just beyond the front door. Not that she knew how to get home, but anywhere would be better than here. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wanda laughed at herself. Steve wouldn’t accept her if this was his plan. His home was never hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re so much bigger when you stand up straight.’ She turned to find Harley right behind her, wide-eyed and in his hands, a briefcase not unlike the one that damned her with the dampener. ‘Or I might be small. A lot of people call me small, but my mom says I’m just growing. Quick, I need to see if it makes sense.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He circled her to place the large briefcase atop one of the counters. ‘They write so much for what they could just draw. Who on Earth wants to read these many pages at once!?’ He brought out thick stacks of paper. In his small hands, they scattered and tore as he struggled to keep it all together. One sheet landed at Wanda’s feet and she picked it up to find what might have been the only drawing in the bunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Measurements and arrows defined the design for something that looked like a caped bodysuit. ‘That’s the one,’ Harley rushed over and stole the sheet from her hands, pushing it all too close to her face. ‘Tony says he could get me a job and the first thing they want me to do is make some costume. I can make things, but I never said I can make clothes. I mean, I could, but I want a job that involves making real things. Anyone can make clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to actually be doing stuff. I know how to do stuff. Like the comet heading for Earth. I bet if they had me on it, I could easily make sure everyone knows where it’s actually headed. But the world just doesn’t take you seriously when you’re almost fifteen.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda struggled to assess how far away fifteen was for this boy. He spoke like it was close, but his height and mannerisms had her convinced he was no older than nine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He appeared to have no sense of personal space as he ducked under and around Wanda’s arms, raising them above his head. ‘This jacket’s pretty nice,’ Harley said. ‘Where’d you get it? No, what size is it? No, wait, I think I can check.’ When he closed his eyes, Wanda could have sworn that she saw a flicker of blue light at his feet. ‘Yep, yep, I can work with that. Would you like it though? It’s cold in The Big Apple, isn’t it?’ he laughed awkwardly. ‘If you stay so silent, I’ll feel weird.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A ball of energy on his own, he spun out of the room, pounding down the steps to the garage. ‘Gotta make it down here in case something explodes. Come, come!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda followed, but not before taking the screwdriver that Harley had left behind. In the garage, the boy was making some sort of poster on the ground, drawing long lines and precise curves that emulated the diagrams on the sheet. When he was done, he stood up and stretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s a good fabric? Can’t make something out of spandex, he’ll definitely laugh. Spandex isn’t all that funny, though. Polyester? Polyester could be good. Ack!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed his hands together and closed his eyes in what Wanda thought to be some frustrated prayer, until she saw the glow at his feet again. It was greater this time, bluer, and spiralling around him just like her own energy. She gasped, ‘You—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ugh!’ The light left as once as his eyes snapped open. ‘I can’t focus if you—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can do what I do,’ Wanda said in awe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What. . . can you do?’ Harley asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda swallowed. Rarely did she come across someone who didn’t know. Rarely as in </span>
  <em>
    <span>never. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gripping the screwdriver in her fist, she dug the tip beneath her collar. It sparked, but the charge stuck to the metal. She did the same as Harley did, closing her eyes with a fist out. The small space that the screwdriver created was a hole in the dam and all the energy came flooding through. It danced around her, ready to be commanded. When she opened her eyes, she found it in glowing crimson as always. An obedient snake, violent and preying, yet still without her order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>her,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harley whispered. ‘He didn’t tell me that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to get out of here,’ she explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No way.’ He made for under one of the tables, producing a blade. ‘You’re dangerous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was always the conclusion to finding out about what Wanda could do. Whether they were terrified or impressed, people always concluded that she was ultimately dangerous. Considering that she was the only person in the world who could be blamed for Sokovia, for her own brother’s death, Wanda couldn’t find it in her to argue otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t move,’ Harley hissed. ‘If you try anything, I will hurt you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda had heard it all before. The threats and warnings. They were part and parcel of Wanda Maximoff as an existence now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe he brought you here!’ The boy paced around her. ‘What does he take me for? He could have at least warned me before getting me to babysit a literal freak. What the hell!? And you? How are you so quiet? You killed people! You belong in a—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Prison somewhere so far away, you won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again,’ Wanda finished. The boy’s mind was a thousand times louder than his mouth. Wanda shoved the screwdriver deeper beneath the collar, ignoring the collar’s growing heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley shook. ‘H—How are you doing that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re dangerous. . . you’re powerful.’ Wanda smiled. ‘This is what I can do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the tools she couldn’t find followed the luminescent tendrils into the air and angled themselves at the boy, who dropped the blade in response. His mouth opened and for once, nothing was on his tongue. If Wanda was being honest, she didn’t mind people fearing her anymore. She just preferred it when she gave them a genuine reason to be afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the tools sped toward the boy. Wanda was no stranger to violence. His corpse would have made at least for a good memory to think upon when she made it out of here. Before they could reach him, a blinding blue light threw them aside, startling Wanda. The boy used the chance to break for the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda ignored him at first, forcing the garage door up with renewed strength. The burning sun greeted her, a sky so fine that freedom seemed to be calling her name. She had been here before. The choice of freedom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, the choice of making sure the people who took it in the first place could never take it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned back to the garage. The boy wasn’t worth it, but he also wasn’t normal. The idea that he was human was a presumption on Wanda’s part. If Tony could create the Vision, what would stop him from inventing this overly human robot child? Plus, the sky would always wait for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy wouldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda sped into the house. Further in went the screwdriver and at her neck, the scorching heat was beginning to scald. With the dam falling apart, all the energy in the atmosphere was hers to control. Harley was a bubble of something different, an opposing force that could be on par with her own with enough training. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too bad she’d be getting rid of him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That force led her to the second floor of the house, where the boy had made himself prey by cowering behind a drawer in his own bedroom. A giggle spilled from her lips at how easy life was when she wasn’t desperately playing by the rules. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second she stepped into the room, something sped toward her fast enough to take out a normal person, but no match for Wanda. She opened her eyes to find a bullet before her, floating in her orbit. Behind the gun responsible for it was Harley, visibly terrified. He attempted to dodge past her, but Wanda easily grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him back. ‘Let me go!’ he screamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not human,’ Wanda responded. ‘Aren’t you as dangerous as me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley kicked desperately to no avail. ‘What the hell are you talking about!?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda frowned. Whether or not the boy was genuinely a human, he had been programmed by code or by word to believe he was entirely normal. The advantages that his abilities gave him were something that he attributed to smarts or pure luck. ‘Why doesn’t he want you to know?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not making any sense, you freak!’ Harley twisted and thrust a fist towards her neck. It missed by far. Until Wanda realised too late that her neck wasn’t the target at all. He had the screwdriver in his grasp and yanked it out as hard as he could. The collar blew, sending a charge to them both. Harley escaped her grasp as she fell to the ground, choking on the tightness, the heat, the shock. Just as quickly as the energy came did it fade, a flock of birds breaking for the sky and Harley’s mind had silenced. The atmosphere escaped her. It was too cold now, too barren. She needed something to hold on to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley stamped on her hand. The crack and the pain and the scream all came about the same time. He stared down on her with such disgust. ‘Stark let you live,’ he spat. ‘You should be grateful, because I won’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screwdriver flew through the air to the base of her neck. Her breath came out as a wheeze and the world around her swam through tears until everything faded to black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. ✦</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘This is ridiculous! What are you going to do with so many grapefruits?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Calm down, woman. The kids can eat it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The kids can’t finish the whole bag.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah, can’t it last a week or two?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Look, this one’s already rotten.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda rolled over in the large bed, only to bump into hir brother. ‘Out of the way, pumpkin head.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pjetro groaned, but hardly moved. Vanda stretched to switch on the lamp, lighting up the room enough to provide hir sight. It was easier now to spy on hir parents. ‘What do you think they’re arguing about now?’ ze asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Grapefruits,’ Pjetro grunted. ‘Can you turn off the light now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s hardly past eleven. Get up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a single person in the household slept early, so Vanda sounded quite reasonable when ze said this and Pjetro got out of bed, though it’d soon be midnight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pjetro was the excuse Vanda used to get hirself where ze shouldn’t be. He had no sensibility whatsoever, so he could obnoxious walk into an argument with a yawn and neither of  their parents would bat an eye. Vanda followed suit, but hir reputation of being the cute and quiet one made it hard to get away with stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing up so late?’ hir mother asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pjetro easily picked a grapefruit out of the bag while Vanda struggled to justify hir presence. Ze wasn’t envious though—grapefruits were the most bitter thing and Vanda couldn’t comprehend why Pjetro liked them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you have a nightmare, sunshine?’ hir father asked, picking hir up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda shook hir head, ‘I just wanted to see what was going on.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your father helped some farmers get their car out of a ditch and they gave him a lot of grapefruits.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ew,’ Vanda gagged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t eat it if you hate it,’ Pjetro said. ‘I’ll have them all.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you won’t,’ his mother answered. ‘Get ready for bed, both of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s Vanda who woke me up,’ Pjetro grunted, making a show of his irritation. Vanda stuck out hir tongue. Ze doubted he was really asleep anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your mother’s right.’ Hir father put Vanda down. ‘It’s bedtime.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whatever.’ Pjetro stamped back to the bedroom and Vanda followed him, but not before earning a hug from both of hir parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the kitchen disappeared. The center table had been replaced by a thick pen-shaped monster, at least twice Vanda’s height. It pummelled all the wood and metal that had made up their humble home, crushing it like hir mother did seasoning in soup. English letters ran up the side of the monster that had suddenly decided to sit still after all the damage it had done. </span>
</p><p>S</p><p>T</p><p>A</p><p>R</p><p>K</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that was its name. A foreigner from afar, so odd and inhumane, had crashed into their home and now it was lost. It couldn’t speak though. Or if it could, it chose not too. Then again, hir parents didn’t speak either and they were right next to hir. Dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can go anywhere you want,’ Pjetro said, suddenly beside hir and much taller too. Vanda’s first instinct was to do something cruel, like yank the stupid-looking goggles from his face, but he seemed so serious that ze thought against it. He wasn’t speaking Vidin-Lom either, which was weird. He had taken to speaking the tongue of the adults that had taken them from the streets to little cells. The pair’s gratitude constantly swayed between the fear of going back into the harsh snow and escaping to a better future. ‘I can make it round the whole world in two minutes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda’s words weren’t hir own when ze spoke. Where ze had meant to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes, let’s go right now!</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ze ended up mumbling, ‘We’d need things—documents, clothes—’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pjetro shook his head, ‘You don’t get it. They would never catch us. We can also do anything we want. Think about it. What do you want to do most?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ze thought about it. There were so many things a person could do and even more when said person was on par with all the Elohim. ‘Do you remember the shell?’ ze asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pjetro, in a rare moment, was entirely quiet. A slight nod was all that he gave. Vanda now wanted to scream at them, tell the twins to do anything else with their lives. Even the Elohim had their limits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda clawed at her arms. It was cold. Not just in the usual totally silent and dark way. There were goosebumps forming on hir skin and ze kicked against the hard ground, trying to maintain warmth. It occurred to hir then that hir arms were bare, a small patch still stinging from the government-mandated tattoo. Ze pulled at hir clothes. A tight and drab jumpsuit had replaced the last artifacts of Sokovia. Attempts to stand up were ruined by ankles bound and chained. Interesting choice; they had no doubt decided a monster that could walk or run was far more dangerous that one that could grab. Or maybe this was what the Vision had spoken about, the rules that barred them from anything too drastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda took a deep breath. Nothing. Not even a rumble behind the wall. Whatever the collar had done, they reinforced it, increased its power tenfold. Vanda couldn’t use hir powers before, but those powers were completely gone now. Maybe ze was dead. Gehinnom was apparently a small dark room, cold and ruthless, and hope was an even smaller light far off in the distance. Something rustled behind hir and Vanda turned over to find Steve, his huge mass awkwardly curled up into a ball in the corner of the room. ‘Steve?’ ze called. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up from his feet, hunched over his knees with a weak smile. ‘Sorry ‘bout all of this, kid. I tried my best.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda shook hir head. The fact that he hadn’t abandoned hir again was enough. ‘It’s okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanted to apologise, truly,’ Steve sighed. ‘I didn’t think Tony would do that. Nobody should ever lock you up like that.’ Vanda smiled at that. Of course Steve didn’t think Tony would do that. If he did, he would have punched Tony long ago. Steve wasn’t a bad guy. ‘They changed the collar. Wanted to make sure you can’t ever access your powers again. I won’t let them make you wear it forever. You deserve to have your powers. I was an idiot bringing the first one round.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You couldn’t have known—’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no, Vanda.’ Steve unfurled, crawling towards Vanda and helping hir sit upright. His palm never left hir shoulder. Up close, he was so intense, like every word he spoke carried the weight of the world. ‘You can’t make excuses for people. You’ve been through the worst a dozen  times and this place is bent on putting you through worse. You can’t just take it like that. You have to fight.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His other hand came around hir own, folding it into a fist. ‘Look at what we’ve done to you,’ he whispered. ‘You should never be this weak. Pjetro would never forgive you for this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanda looked away, throat narrowing around her words. ‘Pjetro’s dead,’ she mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you let him die,’ Steve retorted, ‘because you let </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> die. Why are you sitting in this cell, waiting for me to save you? God knows you can save yourself. That’s the way it’s always been. Vanda Maximova against the whole world. Are you going to lose this battle?’</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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